On the Edge
by kittykatloren
Summary: She would think she'd be happy, of course she would. But she had no idea. She knew him, but she didn't know. He never wanted her to. Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks oneshot.


**A/N: **Just a little introspective piece on their thoughts. It's been a while since I wrote them. Some of these ideas come from random chats with **Kitten Kisses**. :) Enjoy!**  
**

**Words: **1051  
**Characters:** Remus, Tonks  
**Time: **_Ootp_-ish  
**Genre:** Angst/Romance

**Disclaimer: **Everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling, not me.

* * *

The prospect of two flights of creaky, dusty, dark stairs up to his room in Number Twelve was too much. It had been so long since he'd rested on a real bed, though… But when he passed the sitting room, the couch looked plenty soft enough, and ever so close. Remus collapsed there, closing his eyes and just breathing, before lying down and settling himself as comfortably as he could. Compared to the places where he'd caught a few hours of shut-eye on the mission, this was bliss.

How long had he been gone? Five days? A week? It would be a relief to see the Order again. To see people who didn't talk of killing and hunting and cruelty. To have to agree with them. He wondered if, given the disguise he wore when with the werewolves, if his friends in the Order would even recognize him if they saw him down there. Sirius, perhaps. Sirius knew the wolfish smile he'd abandoned after entering the real world. Remus had had to do a lot of searching to find that part of himself again, and it was still a façade. That Remus Lupin was gone.

He used to think that a smile was just a smile, a hand just a hand, laughter just laughter. They expressed happiness or offered comfort – he knew that. There was more to them, though, than that. Like Greyback – a smile meant he'd caught the scent; laughter, the kill.

But then again… There was _her_. He forced himself not to think of her when working, somehow. But back in Grimmauld Place, here where he always saw her, it would be impossible. Her smile and her laugh were different. Her hand on his was different. Maybe it was the shining glow in her eyes, the softening of her voice… no, it was so much more.

And he hated it. He hated it, and yet his lived for it, would die without it, worthless and selfish though it made him. Every now and then, there were those impossibly brief moments where she looked at him and he could have _sworn_ that she meant something by it. Her gaze was clear, direct, and warm, and she was seeing only him, _him_, Remus, not _the werewolf_. Those eyes kept him alive, filled him with hope, and for that, he hated himself.

He had no right to hope for her compassion. He had no right to enjoy her conversation and company as much as he did, to think of her every night before he fell asleep, to her touch his shoulder and greet him with a hug like they were the closest of friends, or perhaps something more.

But he couldn't tell her this, he couldn't reject her outright. He couldn't bear to hurt her like that, to tear apart such a friendship like he'd never known before. She seemed so happy when they were together… Why, he had no idea, but she did. They balanced on a precipitous line dividing where they were and where they could be, and the prospect of crossing that line was to Remus as darkly forbidding as if were a cliff. He could not take that step, that risk, that leap of faith.

He could only linger. Balance. Even if it tore him apart inside. He could not step toward her, no more than he could pull himself away – it was better for him to suffer on the edge than leave her, and cause her pain, or worse still, go to her, and cause her more pain. She would think she'd be happy, of course she would. But she had no idea. She knew him, but she didn't _know_. He never wanted her to.

She deserved much more than this selfish coward.

* * *

Dawn crept through the doorway behind her. Only a tiny sliver of light was quick enough to make it through as she slipped inside and closed the door to Number Twelve. Glittering dust that had been briefly illuminated grew dark again, and Tonks set off down the hall very cautiously, giving the troll's leg umbrella stand a wide berth. It was much too early for her to be making a racket.

She spared the living room a glance before continuing on her way to the kitchen. Then she did a double take, backtracked, and peered through the doorway.

Remus was sound asleep on the musty old couch. He lay neatly on his back, though one arm had slipped off his chest and hung loosely, fingers a few inches off the ground. It looked a little uncomfortable – his arm was at a strange angle – so Tonks tiptoed inside, literally took off her boots and tiptoed, because there was no way she'd get close to him unnoticed otherwise.

She crouched next to him and carefully lifted his arm. _He had better not wake up, he had better not… _He looked so relaxed in his sleep, and he'd been gone for so long this time. She had never seen him asleep before – he always seemed like the kind of person who maybe never slept. Which was impossible, of course, but he always seemed aware and always seemed tired. She didn't want to disrupt one of his rare chances to rest.

Softly she laid his arm across his chest, just like his other one. _There_. That looked more comfortable, more like Remus. He wasn't the type to sprawl. He was always refined, organized, in control of his movements and expressions. Perhaps he was compensating for all those times when he had no control and suffered so much for it.

They were friends, weren't they? That's why she noticed these things.

She made him smile, he made her laugh, more than anyone else. That was just because they were friends. And how she thought about him quite often, worried about him, missed him when he was gone – that was just friendship, too.

Tonks sighed. She was no stranger to feeling. But this was different, this was no schoolgirl crush or teenage fling, this was something different and new, so unfamiliar that it was dark. Dark because she knew, she _knew_, that even if he felt the same way, he'd never show it.

He'd care for her too much for that, the fool.


End file.
